


Detective and Spy Looking for Love

by storytellerof221b



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bullet wound, CPR, Caretaking, Cutting, Danger, Drowning, F/M, Fever, Innocence, Jealousy, Kinky fantasies, Legwork, M/M, Nightmares, Poison, Romantic Gestures, Serious Talks, Sickness, Unrequited Love, aftermath of war, vomitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:48:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24306196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storytellerof221b/pseuds/storytellerof221b
Summary: Sherlock tries to get John's attention in every way possible and he is really desperate to get it. Of course, he doesn't choose an easy way and things go awry.Greg really likes Sherlock's brother Mycroft but he isn't easy to approach. The three men have a stupid idea and follow it up. Things go a bit wild.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 16
Kudos: 32





	1. Poison

John returned from his shift at the A+E unit. He was tired and exhausted after having done over-hours again. He climbed up the stairs and opened the door to their living-room.

“Sherlock? Are you home?” The room was dark and he couldn't hear a thing.

“Probably at Bart's then ...” John threw his jacket over the armchair and toed off his shoes. He slowly walked into their kitchen and put the kettle on. Then he smelled it. Bile. He turned his head and sniffed.

“Sherlock? Are you here?” No answer was given. He turned on the lights and checked. He opened the door to his room. There was his coat over the bed and his shoes and shirt all over the place. The door to the bath was open and the light was on, too. The smell of vomit became stronger and John hurried. He stood in the doorway and saw his friend's body on the tiles.

“Jesus, Sherlock, what did you do?” He knelt beside him and his first thought had been about drugs. But he didn't look like it. He was unconscious and didn't move. He was only clad in his trousers. He had vomited all over the place and his skin was more of a grey than the usual beautiful paleness. John opened his eyes with his fingers and looked. No reflex. He hit his cheeks twice, nothing. He felt his pulse, it was very weak.

He rolled him onto his side and cleaned out his mouth. There was no evidence of drugs, no little bags, no spoon, no lighter, no coke, nothing. What the fuck had happened? John stood up and got his med-kit out of the drawer. He carefully shoved his finger down his throat and started to empty his stomach. His body jerked and it took some time until he was done.  
His face shone with sweat and his head lolled over the tiles. John got a wet towel and wiped over his face and neck. Sherlock's trousers were all dirty so he undressed him and put them into the laundry bag together with his other things.  
Finally, Sherlock's breathing became calmer and his eyelids began to flutter. Slowly his eyes opened.

“Sherlock, can you hear me?” He tried to focus.

“Shooonn …” He all but slurred and he tried to reach out for him. John pulled him up and into his arms. His head rested against his chest.

“Oisssnn … Baaagghh ...” He belched once and closed his eyes again. John looked at him and wondered what he was trying to tell him. It had sounded like _poison_ and _bag_. He had to have a look. First of all, he had to take him to bed. Also, he mustn’t realise that he was almost completely naked. He was only clad in his boxers and his whole body was on display. John swallowed. Then he shook his head once and returned into the doctor’s mode.

He felt his pulse again, it was already getting stronger. He pulled him up on wobbly knees and then just let him drop over his shoulder. He adjusted his skinny limbs once and then carried him over. He placed him on his bed and covered him with the duvet. He was all boneless and wasn't able to speak. But he wasn't grey anymore and his pulse was getting better, too. He wouldn't need an ambulance.

John fetched a glass of water and some aspirin for him that he placed on the nightstand. He also brought a bucket, just in case. Then he sat on the mattress and took his hand. He was cold.

“Sherlock? Can you talk?” His eyes fluttered but wouldn't open.

“What happened here?” No reply, he was out cold. John sighed and walked back into the kitchen. He found a bag with Chinese take-away. Obviously, Sherlock once had eaten something and got food poisoning. John took some samples and put it into an evidence bag. He would take it over to Molly and have her analyse it. Then he started to clean up the kitchen and the bath. Every few minutes he went to check on his flatmate but he was still sleeping.

Finally, John was done and poured a drink. Then he returned to Sherlock's bedroom. He had turned on his side and he was sweating badly. John took his pulse again. It was a bit fast but perhaps he was dreaming. He didn't want to leave him alone, just in case he got sick again. So, John fetched his laptop and sat on the bed leaning against the headrest. He watched the sleeping man beside him. This was a bit weird. He admitted it to himself. But it was on the safe side. What if he threw up in the middle of the night and choked on his own vomit? He can't have that.

Later on, John closed the lid of the laptop and carried it back upstairs into his room. He quickly changed into track pants and a t-shirt. He grabbed his bedding and made himself comfortable in an armchair in Sherlock's room with his feet on the bed. He huddled beneath the blanket and soon fell asleep.

***

He woke to a retching Sherlock who hung over the edge of the mattress and tried to target the bucket. His hands were into fists and clutched the sheets. Tears were streaming down his face and he panted.  
At once John was beside him and held him by his chest and forehead. Sherlock's hands were tightly holding his arm. He waited until it was over and then pulled him up. He handed him a Kleenex and he blew his nose. He was shivering and slumped against John.

“Wha r u doin me bed, Shooohnnn?” He murmured against his tee still slurring. John held him and carded through his hair.

“I was watching you vomit. It seems you got poisoned yesterday. I found you in the bath. I wanted to make sure you are doing fine. I am leaving now.” Sherlock's hands held on tight.

“Noooo, not, Shooohnnn ...” He rubbed his face against him. John kept touching his hair, pulling at some strands, tenderly pulled, and let it bounce back. It made Sherlock purr like a cat. A big, clingy cat. Well, maybe not a cat, more a panther? John shook his head. What the fuck was he doing here?

“OK, Sherlock, I'll stay for a bit. Don't worry.” He made pleased noises.

“Just let me get a bit comfy, please?” He moved him down on his back. Sherlock's arm was around John's waist and his head rested on his chest. Obviously, he wanted him to stay close. John's eyes wandered over to his bedding but Sherlock wouldn't let go. He quietly sighed and John both felt good and then a bit not good. He was a straight lad, wasn't he? So why did he like this so much? He wasn't supposed to feel that good, getting touched by his attractive flatmate like this, being so close to him. But somehow, he didn't mind. For once he felt good. He was strangely relaxed and his eyes drooped. He fell asleep again. He slept in Sherlock's bed.

***

Sherlock slowly drifted back to consciousness. He checked himself up. He counted an empty stomach, bad taste in the mouth, fur on his teeth, hungry like fuck, thirsty like hell. He carefully opened his eyes. He was in his bed. He knew because he saw the table of elements in the semi-darkness of his room.

He also knew he wasn't alone in his bed. His hand was on soft, warm skin and his upper body was resting on top of his flatmate. He looked up and found him still asleep. Sherlock's hand had somehow found its way under his layer of clothes. It felt extremely good to have him that close to his own body. He wanted him even closer so he moved a little bit. Then his cock rubbed against John's thigh and he hissed. He was hard. He blushed and hoped John wouldn't wake.  
His fingertips gently brushed over John's six-pack. He smiled and deeply inhaled his scent; wood, vanilla, tea and simply John. He would stay like this as long as possible. Never mind his hunger or thirst. This was something he needed to explore properly.

John started to move a little and quietly groaned. His head moved to the side. His fingers were still deep into Sherlock's longish, dark hair. He also felt a warm hand flat on his belly and an erection against his thigh. His cheeks flushed. Should he just jump out of bed or pretend to be asleep? Was Sherlock still asleep? He decided to open his eyes. Sherlock's half-naked body was still draped over his. This was definitely too much. He had to stop this.

“Sherlock? Are you awake?” Said one wondered what John would do being buried beneath him. He didn't answer but his eyes were open facing the other way. John lifted himself up on his elbows and moved into a sitting position against the headrest. Sherlock made his body all heavy and his head landed directly on John's groin where a half-hard cock met him. He smugly smiled and once moved his cheek over it.

“Sherlock? Please wake up!” John sounded stressed now so Sherlock stopped his game.

“What?” John touched his shoulders and tried to move him off his groin. It was a futile attempt, of course.

“Sherlock, please move. I need to get up. You are on my ... Just please?” Sherlock lifted his head and with an effort threw himself on his back beside John. His eyes were open and met John's.

“Sit up, please, and take the pill. It will make you feel better.” Sherlock once did as being told. After he had drunken, he looked up at John who was standing beside the bed.

“I smell ugly ...” John smiled and ruffled his hair.

“Yes, you actually do. If you feel safe enough on your own legs, take a shower. Otherwise, I suggest a bath.”

“I am not sure how I got into this state, John.” He shook his head.

“Tell me how you found me.” He imperiously demanded from down below.

“Take a shower first. Come on, get up slowly.” He helped him trying to ignore his raging hard-on clearly obvious under his boxers. Sherlock leant against the tiles.

“Dizzy ...” He closed his eyes.

“You still feel like throwing up?” He shook his head.

“That’s good.” John made a bath for him and made him sit inside the tub. His bony knees stood up out of the water but he was chin-down.

“Does that feel good?” He nodded. John helped him wash his hair. Then Sherlock fiddled with his boxers and threw them over the edge. John was happy for the bubbles. He made him brush his teeth in there, too.

“Oh, this is much better ...” Sherlock sighed.

“Now help me out, John.” He stood up in all his naked glory making John gape at him.

“Towel, please, John. And stop doing that, you look like a carp.” He took the edge off his words by smiling and a smooth voice. John blushed anyway and handed him a towel. Then he made him dress into a bathrobe. He had him sit on the toilet-lid and brought him warm socks. Sherlock let him do all this. It felt wonderful, being taken care of. He could have this more often, except for the vomiting and the pain, of course.

They walked into their kitchen and Sherlock sat on a chair at their little table. His stomach rumbled.

“Are you up to eat something?” Sherlock tilted his head.

“I don't like it, but yes, I am.” He had his chin placed on his folded hands and was watching John preparing breakfast. He toasted some slices and buttered them for him. Then he also made scrambled eggs. He ate everything without complaining. He finally felt good. He questioningly looked at John.

“OK. I came home a bit late from my shift yesterday night. Everything was dark. I called out to you but you didn't reply. I thought you were at Bart's first. Then I smelled the bile.”

“What time was it?” He got interrupted.

“I am not sure. I left the A+E around 8.30 pm. I walked home. Perhaps 9.15 pm.?”

“You didn't check?”

“No, I didn't. Why should I? Anyway, I found you undressed except for your trousers in the bath. You were unconscious, your pulse was weak. You mumbled something about poison and a bag.” Sherlock nodded.

“Yes, I can remember now. I bought Chinese take-away on my way home from Bart's. I have never been there before but it looked OK and Lestrade had mentioned it. You weren't home yet so I just had a few bites out of the container leaning against the counter.” John shook his head at that.

“It took only about a few minutes until I started to feel bad, hot and sick. I ran and shed my clothes where I was. I hardly made it into the bath where I started to get sick. The pain was intense. I cramped and fell down hard on the tiles. The pain got worse over time and I was too weak to get up and phone for help. I thought I did hear you coming home but I wasn't sure.”

“It seems I came back home right on time then.”

“Yes, so it seems. Thank you, John, really thank you.” He once sounded honest making John feel hot again.

“No big deal.” Sherlock shook his head.

“Yes, it is a big deal for me. Nobody has taken care of me like you did. You were worried, I could feel it. And you stayed with me, didn't leave me alone afterwards. That was good.” He sounded a bit small now and John had a closer look. His ears were red and he hid his eyes. Was he crying, for God's sake? And then he saw the tears running down his cheek.

“Oh Sherlock, please don't. Come here!” And he hugged him leaning down. Slowly Sherlock's arms came around his shoulders and he sobbed against his tee. He held on tight and clutched at the fabric. John couldn't resist and carded his fingers through his hair.  
Finally, Sherlock came down and wiped over his eyes. He shyly smiled at him and left for his bedroom.

“Jesus, what kind of life was he having?” John thought.

“All alone, nobody was wondering about his well-being.” John walked into the bath now and showered. Upstairs he changed into a denim, t-shirt, and trainers. Luckily, he was having a day off today. When he went back downstairs Sherlock was wearing his posh things again. Nice, tight shirt, dress trousers and black shoes. He had brewed coffee for John who hadn't had breakfast. He had just fed Sherlock.

“Thank you, Sherlock.” He smiled happily. John made something to eat and devoured it. He rinsed everything and turned around.

“By the way, I bagged some of the food in evidence bags. We should have it analysed. What do you think?” He was by his side in a second and took him by the shoulders.

“Brilliant, John! Let's go see Molly right away.”

“Are you sure, you are up to it?” He nodded.

“Absolutely.” John took them out of the fridge which had seen worse than poisoned food. Sherlock was throwing his coat and scarf on and handed John his jacket.

As usual, Sherlock was able to hail a cab out of nowhere in mere seconds. Sometimes John wondered if this was magic. They drove to Bart's together and found Molly in her lab in the basement. For once there was no corpse on the stretcher and both John and Sherlock were rather thankful for it.  
Sherlock placed the plastic bag on the table.

“I need this analysed as soon as possible!” John stood by his side.

“Please, Molly? It's really urgent. There is some poison in it.” She looked up at him.

“You were to be poisoned?” She asked with a frown.

“He was.” John pointed at Sherlock and now she looked him up and down.

“Jesus, are you alright?” There were hectic red spots on her cheeks now.

“My doctor took care of me, Molly.” The way he said that made John's heart warm and made Molly look a bit annoyed.

“He had cramps and vomited for quite a time. It took him only a few minutes until it started.”

“I see. I will do it but not right away. I need to finish this. I call you guys.” Sherlock was looking disappointed.

“Thank you, Molly, we appreciate it.” John said and took Sherlock's arm pulling him outside. Standing on the aisle he said:

“No, we don't! It takes too long!”

“We can be happy about the fact she does it all along! Now shut up and drink some more.” He made him sit in a café a few minutes away. John had ordered tea and was watching Sherlock who was sweating a bit again and was still too pale.

“We are going home. You are exhausted.” Sherlock just nodded and wasn't talking back at him which was a sign. He almost fell into the back of the cab and closed his eyes at once. John was worried again and took his pulse. It was too fast. He would make him go to bed again. He needed to rest.  
He paid the cabbie at Baker Street and shoved Sherlock up the stairs. He just dumped his coat and fell on the sofa.

“No, Sherlock, bed it is.” Sherlock made annoying noises but slowly got back on his feet. He swayed over into his bedroom and fell down on the mattress. John pulled off his shoes and felt his forehead. He was hot. He took his temperature, almost 39.8 °C. He brought a cool-pack from the kitchen and gently placed it on his head. Sherlock moaned. John tried to roll up his trousers but it won't work. They were too tight around his long legs.

“You are a doctor, John, you can do it.” He told himself when opening his belt and pulling the zip down. He pulled the trousers over his hips and got them off of him. He was wearing black silken boxers. Nice, just like the day before. He shook his head.

“Bloody hell ...” John murmured.

“Can't have this ...” He wound cold towels around his calves. He brought some paracetamol and sat by his side.

“Sherlock, please get up a bit and take these. They will reduce the fever.” Slowly he opened his eyes and smiled sheepishly. John had his hand under his neck and lifted him up a bit. He took two pills and swallowed them with water John had brought, too.

“I am hot ...” John nodded.

“Yes, you are.” He grinned stupidly.

“So are you!”

“What?”

“You smell nice.”

“What?”

“Don't go away. Need you close. Always.” He closed his eyes and gone he was.

“Must be the fever ...” John thought and shook his head.

“He can't possibly think me hot. Me above all people, a scarred and crippled army doctor on a part-time shift needing a flat-share because the army-pension isn't enough. Bit of grey hair in the blond already, losing my form from before. Not to forget me being short.” He sighed and re-arranged the cool-pack on his forehead.

“You instead, you are beautiful with your long limbs, marble-coloured and smooth skin, well-clad all the time.” He sighed. He needed to stop that. He was close to worshipping this man, his flatmate, his detective. But he toed off his shoes and laid down by his side. His bedding had still been on the armchair. He carried it over and moved close inhaling his scent. It was strawberry, chemistry, and cinnamon. He very carefully placed his arm over his waist and rested his head against his body. He felt him tremble a bit. It must be the fever. He closed his eyes.

***

Sherlock had the weirdest dreams. But all the time he could sense John close by. When he finally woke it was early evening again. He felt better by now and removed the cool-pack from his head. Then he felt the weight on his belly. His hand moved up and found John's head. He knew the texture of his hair already. He let his fingers move through the short strands. It felt soft and he liked the feeling.  
He was on his body sleeping. That was nice. Again, he didn't make a move to not lose this too soon, to not wake him up. As soon as he would wake up, he would jump off the bed anyway feeling embarrassed about the situation. Sherlock knew it, he had eyes to see. Normally he wouldn't touch him like this. Instead, he would be on the receiving end of the _not-being-gay_ speech from John. Nonsense.

John started to stir and moved his head getting so close to where Sherlock wanted him to be. John's breath hit his prick and he grit his teeth. His cock twitched at the feeling. This was just too much.

“John? Are you awake?” He lifted his head at once.

“What? Yes, I am. Are you alright? Sherlock?” He had turned his head and his eyes shone in the dark.

“Yes, yes, I am, don't worry. I just need to get up. So please move?”

“Oh, yes, of course. I am sorry.” As assumed John shot up and sat down with his feet on the floor again. He shook his head trying to wake up. Sherlock left the bed on the other side quickly disappearing into the bath to hide his erection. He let the cold water run and pressed one of the towels on his groin. He quietly moaned and bit into his free hand. Finally, it went away. He got rid of his sweaty shirt and donned his dressing-gown instead. Coming back into his room he found John still sitting on his bed.

“John? What is it?” Slowly he turned his head.

“Nothing, Sherlock, it's nothing.” He stood and passed by him carrying his bedding. He turned around before going upstairs.

“Please dress into something warm. You mustn't get cold.”

“I will ...” Sherlock's eyes followed him and he did as being told. He pulled on new boxers, fresh socks and track pants. He grabbed his hoodie from uni out of the depths of his cupboard and returned into the kitchen. He stared into the fridge. Nothing.  
John came back down dressed in old army fatigues and a tee. He stood beside him and had a look, too.

“I don't want to go outside ...” John sighed.

“Doesn't Tesco do delivery service?” Sherlock was wondering.

“No, not this one.” Of course, John knew it.

“We need to order something then. But what?” He opened the drawer where all their menus were.

“Not Chinese!” John started looking seriously at Sherlock who just had to smile at him.

“Pizza?” Sherlock suggested not able to remember his last one. But it had just come to mind.

“You are up to it?” As on command, Sherlock's stomach rumbled again.

“So, I see.” John got the menu out of the drawer and had a look. He picked a salad, garlic bread and a very meaty one. Sherlock just took a mushroom and tuna one with loads of cheese. John placed their order and then switched on the telly.

“What about a Bond film? Wouldn't you like it?” John turned around looking surprised.

“You always complain about it, Sherlock. You find it boring and stupid. Why would you watch it?” Sherlock bit his lower lip.

“I promise not to nag. I just want a relaxing evening.” He spared the _with you_. But John looked happy anyway and let him even chose the film. Sherlock picked the latest. He liked the title song and Daniel Craig.  
The pizza arrived and they placed the boxes on the coffee table. John poured the water. They sat on the sofa and the film started. Sherlock had to admit it wasn't that bad. There was even a new Q. He munched on his slice. After half an hour or so John turned to him and looked. Then he had to laugh.

“What?” Sherlock asked. John pointed at him.

“You have tomato all over your mouth. Here, take this.” He handed him a napkin. Sherlock wiped his mouth wishing he would have licked it off of him.

“Gone?” John had a closer look and nodded.

“Yes, gone. How do you feel about a glass of wine?”

“Just a small one, thank you.” John got it and returned. Sherlock in the meantime had his long legs on the sofa. John stood there and just looked. Sherlock smiled lifting up his legs. John sighed and sat down again having Sherlock's feet in his lap for the rest of the film. It was feeling rather comfy though.  
While the credentials were running, John looked at Sherlock.

“Did you like it?” Sherlock nodded wiggling his toes.

“Actually, I did like it. It was fun to watch.” They looked at each other.

“I liked it a lot, John, really.”

“I liked it, too.” John replied not being sure what he meant, what they meant.

“Is there some more wine? I would like to have another, if you wouldn't mind?”

“If you like it, Sherlock? Here we go.” He poured him some and sat down again. Now Sherlock pushed his toes under his thighs. They felt cold. John touched his feet.

“Fuck, Sherlock, you are freezing. Why didn't you say something? Wait, I will light a fire.” John got up and Sherlock turned on his side watching him.

“Caveman ...” He thought smiling. He kept looking at John kneeling in front of the fire-place moving some wood inside. Sherlock got up and knelt beside him. He stared into the flames holding the glass of wine. John looked at him.

“Fuck, isn't he gorgeous ...”

“He sure likes me. Why doesn't he approach? Because he thinks he is straight. Yes, well, then ...”

“He makes me feel wanted again. I don't know why. This isn't right. I can't do this anymore ...” John stood and looked down at Sherlock.

“I am going to bed. I will leave my door open. If you need help, just call out for me. I will be there for you.” Sherlock almost froze again.

“Thank you, I will be fine, just fine ...” John disappeared into the bath not sensing the change in mood. Sherlock held back his tears until he was upstairs. Only then he brushed his teeth and poured a glass of water. He was lying in the dark and shed hot, burning tears.

“Just why doesn't he recognise my need? I need him so much. I know he likes me; he just denies it. But why?” He bit his lips and closed his eyes. He cried some more but soon fell asleep due to all the exhaustion.

***

John slowly went upstairs. He had felt Sherlock's disappointment but what could he have done? He just couldn't stand him being so close or he would do something stupid; something that would destroy their friendship. He didn't want that. That's why he retreated.


	2. Drowning

They were on a case again. Sherlock was back to his normal self after the food poisoning. There was no suspicious poison mixed inside or so Molly had told them. So, it was just simple food poisoning, probably the eggs Molly had said.

Now they were running after a suspect down the pier by the river Thames. Sherlock was faster, of course, he was. John kept up pretty well, but was cut off after two corners. Sherlock was gone. When John finally ran around the last corner, he saw him right at the edge of the pier being held at gunpoint.

“Sherlock!” John screamed at the same moment the guy shot. Sherlock fell backwards into the Thames and with one swift move John drew his weapon. He aimed and shot and then just dropped the gun. He ran towards the river and chucked his shoes and jacket. He just jumped. Not thinking, not really. He could already hear the sirens of the police cars, so Lestrade was close. He pushed his legs trying to grab something. He couldn't see a thing in the dark river. And then he grabbed his coat. He slung his arms around him and pushed upwards. He dashed through the water and John coughed. Sherlock hung motionless in his embrace. John's teeth rattled; he was freezing.

“Sherlock?” No answer. He held him in a lifesaving grip until he saw the police cruiser coming up. Soon enough he was pulled out of his arms and he clung to the boat. Being pulled on board, too, he closed his eyes for a few moments. Then he crawled to Sherlock's side. He pushed through the men that bent over him. He held him and he could see he wasn't breathing.

“Oh God, please don't ...” John thought and ripped open his shirt. Then he started CPR and breathed mouth-to-mouth. Sometimes in between, he heard Lestrade.

“Just let him. He is a doctor; he knows what he is doing.” Soon enough Sherlock started to cough up water.

“Sherlock? Can you hear me? Please?” John just sat by his side checking his upper body for the gun wound. It had hit him but not too bad. It had gone right into his upper arm and still stuck inside the flesh. Both of them were taken to the hospital. John was given something that made him calm down. He had been acting too much; he was so upset, close to losing his mind. They sedated him for his own good.

Sherlock had been taken into the operation theatre right away. The bullet had been cut out of him; he wasn't hurt too bad. Now he was awake in his bed looking at John in the other bed.

“You scared him, Sherlock.” Sherlock slowly turned around. Lestrade.

“What do you know?”

“I know enough of you bloody Holmes to see through your petty game!”

“What are you talking about?”

“You held your breath! You scared him to death!” Sherlock bit his lip.

“Lestrade, I don't want him to be hurt. I just want him close.”

“Then tell him, damn it!”

“He will leave.” Lestrade shook his head.

“I don't think so. Give it a try. Please?” Sherlock looked up at him from his bed.

“I don't want to lose him ...”

“I don't think you will.” Then he left. Sherlock closed his eyes. And then he heard John's voice.

“Is it true? You held your breath?” Sherlock was up in an instant and over at John's bed.

“Yes, it's true, I held my breath.” John just shook his head.

“Why? You must have hurt; you have been shot at.”

“I wanted you to take care of me again. I wanted you to be close to me again.”

“I don't get it ...” John's eyes fluttered closed and he was gone. He instantly forgot about this.

***

John kept dreaming about drowning after they had been going home. He had never told Sherlock about his experiences in Afghanistan, especially about the water-boarding. Soon enough the Taliban had known how to do it. And when John was taken hostage he was as proper being to be experimented on.

He had jumped into the water after Sherlock without hesitation. But when he heard over the talk between Lestrade and Sherlock in the hospital he didn't know what to think and he asked. He wasn't any smarter afterwards. And he forgot all about it anyway.

The only thing left was he kept dreaming about it and it wasn't nice. The last time he had to be pulled out of the shower stall because he was a sobbing mess on the tiles was only one day ago. It took him minutes to realise it was Sherlock who tried to calm him down and when he realised, he was all naked and shaking limbs and bones against him he just fled upstairs and away from him.

***

“Did I cause all this?” Sherlock wondered. John kept dreaming after the incident in the Thames. He heard him screaming a lot and he recognised when he started to play the violin, he always came down soon. But when he had to pull him out of the shower because he was hitting the tiles and screaming, he was scared. Because when John woke, he didn't remember anything.   
And the last time he did it and held him shaking all over he just pushed him away and took off upstairs. Sherlock just couldn't stand it anymore. He followed him upstairs and into his room. He was on his bed flat on his front panting. He stood by the bed, there was no response.  
He rolled him over, his eyes were closed. His own lips quivered and he shook his head.

“I can't have this anymore.” He bent down and kissed him on the forehead.

“John? Please talk to me! It's me, Sherlock. You are safe now!” John wouldn't answer so Sherlock just climbed into his bed. He pulled him close and held him. He roughly whispered:

“I don't care why you think this wrong, John. This is what we both need. Please, don't reject me ...” He pressed a kiss on his nape.

***

John felt safe for once; warm, held, and safe. He could smell Sherlock. Then he remembered and tried to get up and away. He was held back by strong arms. He roughly screamed until he was done. He felt ashamed, hot, and close to tears.

“John? It's me, Sherlock. Can you hear me?” He nodded; his eyes tightly pressed together.

“You are doing fine and I am right here for you.” John opened his eyes and there he was. His blue-grey-green whatever eyes looked worried. John calmed down at once. He felt his hands slip off his arms.


	3. Cutting

Still, they hadn’t reached the closeness Sherlock so very desired. He could only achieve this when he was hurt or when he pretended to be hurt. John wouldn’t come close again without a reason. So, Sherlock started to play the game.

***

He was hunched over his microscope in the kitchen and stared irritated at the dirt under the lenses. He had expected something else. He swore and hit the top of the table. Unfortunately, he hit a shard he hadn’t seen. He looked at his palm which showed a nice cut straight over the heel of his hand. It wasn’t bad but it made him think. He carefully looked over his shoulder but John was in his armchair drinking tea and reading the newspaper. He hadn’t seen what happened.

Sherlock took the fragment and sliced his palm open just a bit more. This he had to notice. It would need stitches. Sherlock watched the blood drip down his hand and fall onto the table.

“John?” The papers rustled and he looked up.

“Yes, what is it?”

“Could you have a look, please?”

“Under your microscope?”

“At my hand.”

“Why?”

“I cut myself and it keeps bleeding.” In a second John stood and rushed over. Gently he took his hand and looked.

“This needs stitches, Sherlock.” He pulled his hand away.

“I don’t want to go to the hospital!” John looked up at him.

“I can do it. Just sit here and don’t move.” He brought his med-kit and disinfected first his own hands and arms. Then he donned gloves. He returned and cleaned the wound. Sherlock hissed. It really burnt. John gave him some anaesthetic and his palm went numb. Then he stitched him up. Sherlock watched it. After he was done, he bandaged him up. Then he looked at him again.

“This stays on, understood? It needs healing. Please take care of it.”

“Yes, John. Thank you.” He stood and cleaned the table. At least he started but John interfered and did it himself.

“Just sit and rest. It’s fine, I’ll do it.” Sherlock sat in his armchair and watched him. This had been too quick and it hadn't included enough touching and care-taking. He was disappointed. It must have shown on his face, or something must have, because John came over and asked:

“What’s wrong, Sherlock? Does it hurt?”

“No, it doesn’t. I just feel stupid. I am experienced enough to not let this kind of things happen to me.”

“You aren’t seriously injured. It will heal soon enough and I can take the stitches out in three days.”

“It feels funny.” Sherlock kept complaining.

“Funny is good. Hurting is bad.”

“Don’t treat me like a child!” Sherlock pouted.

“Then don’t behave like one!” John stood in front of Sherlock with his fists on his hips.

“I am not one of your soldiers you can order around!” Sherlock’s eyes darkened.

“Lucky you!” Meanwhile, John slightly grinned. He could feel Sherlock's temper rise and expected at least a smaller tantrum.

“I doubt I am lucky! You are mean to me!” More pouting again.

“I am mean to you? I just stitched you up!” Sherlock moved deeper into his armchair and pulled his legs under. His bandaged hand was on his chest and he held it as it would fall off any second.

“You are meant to worry more!” This came out a lot less convincing.

“Worry about you? Like how?” Sherlock shrugged.

“I don’t know … Like you did before?” Slowly John began to understand.

“You aren’t hurt that bad, Sherlock. Before you were almost dead and I was really worried back then. I never want to go through that again soon. Understood? So please take care of yourself!”

“I didn’t poison or shot myself!” Suddenly it shot through John's head.

“You held your breath and I begin to wonder about your hand.” Sherlock blushed. John’s eyes widened.

“You cut yourself …” Slowly he shook his head.

“Sherlock, seriously, you can’t do this to me …”

“John, I am sorry, I just want to …” But John pointed his finger at him.

“No, stop it right now. If you want anything, just tell me. Let me know and I will consider it. But please don’t hurt yourself anymore!” Sherlock didn’t know what to say and so he said nothing.

John took his laptop and went upstairs into his room. Sherlock’s eyes followed him. Then his mobile dinged.

_“Problems in paradise?”  
MH_

_“Leave me alone!”  
SH_

_“Greg told me.”  
MH_

_“Told you what?”  
SH_

_“He told you to tell him.”  
MH_

_“Tell whom what exactly?”  
SH_

_“Sherlock!”  
MH_

_“Mycroft?”  
SH_

_“Please do yourself a favour and talk to John about your feelings!”  
MH_

_“Leave me alone!”  
SH_

_“Don’t complain again.”  
MH_

Sherlock started to think. Obviously, John had feelings for him. He had to do something; something which wasn’t as stupid as cutting his own hand or worse.   
That’s why he ordered take-away for later, rummaged through their cupboards for a bottle of wine, then texted Mycroft to give him some and also some Laphroaig. When he was finally pleased with himself, he set up the table and texted John upstairs.

_“I am sorry. I ordered dinner. Please come downstairs again.”  
SH_

A few minutes later he heard his footsteps on the stairs and he approached. He leant against the kitchen counter and smiled.

“If it’s that serious, Sherlock, I am coming right away.” And he waved his mobile at him.

“Serious?” Sherlock wondered.

“You said sorry. It rarely happens.”

“That’s probably true. But I truly am and I would like to be forgiven.” John absolutely noticed the choice of words. Normally he would have said he wanted him to forgive him. Well, he was able to learn.

“You even set up the table very nicely.” Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly.

“I know how to do it, of course.” The door-bell rang and Sherlock opened. It was Anthea with a box. She handed it over smiling. He even thanked her. Soon after dinner was delivered, he arranged the food with plates and bowls. He even shoved John over to the table and made him sit down.

“You ordered my favourite!”

“Yes, I did. I want you to enjoy and feel good. After dinner we have to talk.” Now John looked up.

“Talk? Why? What happened?”

“My brother told me I needed to talk to you. And so did Greg. I think they are right. At least I hope so.”

“OK?” John slowly started to eat. Images were flashing through his mind from when Sherlock was poisoned and shot at; of him being in his bed resting close to each other. And the evening with the Bond film after which Sherlock had looked so disappointed. John wondered if he was just a coward not admitting his feelings. It was obvious Sherlock felt the same.

Sherlock poured the wine and they changed into their living-room. They sat in their armchairs and looked at each other.

“I like you a lot. I want you to be with me. I want to touch you and kiss you.” John looked dumb-struck.

“What?” Sherlock cleared his throat and had blushed.

“You heard exactly what I said. How do you feel about it?”

“Firstly, I need the Laphroaig.” John poured it into tumblers and handed one over to Sherlock. He didn’t return to his armchair. Instead, he sat on Sherlock’s armrest.

“I feel absolutely positive about it. I like you, too, I actually like you a lot. In fact, I adore you.” Both of them looked at each other, completely bewildered, and downed their drinks.   
John was scared to the bones right now. What was he doing here? Admitting his feelings so easily? He had no experiences with this. He never had a man or was taken by a man, not even kissed, or touched. Not even when he was in the army.  
He was lost in thoughts when Sherlock carefully touched him.

“Don't be afraid, John. We'll do this slowly. Just admit it again that you have feelings for me and it will be enough for now.” John looked into his pleading eyes and saw the want, the love in them. Warmth crept up through his body and he felt the urgent need to touch him. Some of his emotions must have shown because Sherlock took the tumbler from his hands and pulled him down on his lap. John opened his mouth to utter protest and was muted by Sherlock's lips on his own. He tasted of smoky Laphroaig. John didn't move at all but closed his eyes at the sensation.   
Sherlock moved his lips over his mouth and his tongue licked his lips. John's hands were holding on to Sherlock's body. Now his tongue tried to press inside and John gave in. This was something he had never experienced. Normally he was the one who did this. No woman had ever done this to him. But he liked it, it felt nice. He opened up and at once Sherlock's tongue was moving over his gum, palate and teeth exploring everything properly. John moaned quietly.

Sherlock felt John relax and placed him on his lap. He continued kissing him and suddenly stood up with him. By instinct, John slung his legs around his waist and Sherlock grabbed his cheeks moving them over to the sofa. He just fell forward with him so he was on top of John who was moaning a bit louder by now. He kissed him some more making him all pliant beneath him. Finally, he knelt above him and looked down. John opened his eyes and reached up.

“I need to see you all naked ...” Sherlock murmured roughly pulling at John's jumper and tee. He grabbed the hem and pulled them upwards and over John's head. Carelessly he threw them on the floor. Then his eyes focused on John's chest and his palms moved over his nipples and belly. John threw his head back and panted loudly. His own hands moved over Sherlock's still clad thighs.  
Suddenly he felt his hands on his belt and he stilled. They looked at each other. He saw the lust, the greedy passion in Sherlock's eyes, and he let him. This was new, this was great. He was rock-hard and not even ashamed. His belt was opened and so was his zip. His trousers were pulled down and Sherlock's long fingers reached for his dick. He jerked when it was pulled out of his boxers. He looked first at the man's hand and then into his face. He saw him lick his lips and heard the words.

“You are so beautiful like this, John. I want to have you right here and now. Do you trust me?” John still was in awe and didn't really notice the way he was asked. Besides, he had no experience whatsoever with this. That's why he just nodded.

Sherlock let out a snarl, grabbed him and turned him around on the sofa. John was taken by surprise. He had no idea that Sherlock was that strong. He took his wrists and crossed them on his lower back. And then he was tied up.

“Sherlock, what are you doing? Stop that at once!” He tried to get up but to no avail.

“Oh, you like to play it that way. That's interesting. I like it.”

“Play? Sherlock? Please, don't ...” He was being pulled up on his knees and pressed against his chest. Sherlock's palm was on his mouth and muted him.

“Shut up, John. You want it and we both know it. Just look at you.” His free hand palmed his cock and pressed down. John closed his eyes and moaned.

“I had no idea you were such a wanton slut, John, really.” Now he blushed and Sherlock chuckled. John's cock twitched. He tried to say something under his hand but he wouldn't let him. He tried to turn out of his embrace but he held on tight. His hand moved back around his prick now and slowly started to move up and down. John started to shiver and shook his head.

“No, no, please, don't ...” Sherlock let go of his mouth and instead rubbed over his right nipple until it stood out. He took it between his fingers and pulled and tweaked it making John groan rather loudly. In combination with his stimulated cock, it was intense. He had had no idea.

“Don't deny it, you like this, John, and so do I. I waited for so long. I won't stop now. Just don't tell me you don't want this.” John couldn't reply because he was busy with his feelings. He struggled against his bindings but he couldn't free his wrists. They became tighter the more he moved his hands.   
His nipples got pinched again and he shouted.

“We don't want Mrs Hudson to know what's going on here, do we, John?” Sherlock's fingers were around his jaw and slowly John shook his head no. Sherlock reached for something behind John that turned out to be a ball-gag. It was pushed behind John's teeth. His eyes widened when Sherlock buckled it tightly. He tried to say something and just drooled instead.

“If you really want to stop this, you just have to cross your index finger and middle finger of your right hand. I will stop at once. But somehow, I think you want to proceed, don't you?” John nodded slowly. He was leaking copious amounts of pre-cum by now and badly wanted to come. Sherlock got up and off of him and placed him sitting on the sofa. They locked eyes again and Sherlock straddled him. When Sherlock touched John’s prick, said one cross-eyed and moaned. He also started to drool more heavily around the ball-gag. Slowly Sherlock started to rut against him. He still was fully dressed and this made everything more arousing for John. He felt small being naked, also a bit humiliated, too.  
Sherlock stood again and opened his trousers. He wore no underwear and pulled them down over his arse. He came back and started to rut again. His hand reached behind him and he started to finger himself. John's eyes became wide when he saw that. One hand around his cock and his other stuck inside his arse, Sherlock moved wildly on top of John who was panting heavily behind the gag.  
He lifted himself up and above John's cock positioning himself. Very slowly he moved downwards until John was buried to the hilt. It felt rough, the pre-cum hadn't been enough. Sherlock started to clench around him rotating his hips. He found the right angle and fucked himself on top of John who wasn't able to do anything.

He was so close, so damn close. Desperately he looked up and right into Sherlock's eyes who smiled down on him. He felt his balls pull up and closed his eyes tightly. And then he screamed and shot his load up into Sherlock's willing body. He felt the ball-gag being taken away. Sherlock knelt above him and his cum dribbled out of his hole. It was filthy. He started to rub his prick and it took him only seconds to come right onto John's face, hair, and chest.

“John? John! You are dreaming! Wake up!” John opened his eyes. His face was wet with some fluid but his hands were free. He also wasn't naked. He looked around and found Sherlock close by.

“What happened? What ..?” Sherlock carefully took the tumbler away.

“You spilt your drink, John. You were staring at me for some time and just spilt your drink.” Unconsciously John looked down his body and then Sherlock's.

“I, I am sorry for the mess. I'll clean it up right away.” But he was held back.

“What's wrong, John? What did you dream about? You seem stressed.” Sherlock looked worried. John had to suppress a giggle.

“It's nothing. I am sorry.” Sherlock let go and looked troubled. John had no idea at exactly what point he had started to dream. He remembered they had wanted to talk. He must have been day-dreaming about his flatmate shagging him. He blushed when thinking about his dream. Where did that come from? He was into this kind of sex but hadn't had the opportunity lately. And he had never been the one tied up; he had been the one handling the ropes. Plus, he only had been with women. What did this say about his wishes? About his longing?

He had scrubbed his face and hands red by now and Sherlock was knocking on the bathroom door.

“John? Are you alright in there?”

“Yes, I am. I'll be right back. Just a second, please.” He heard him retreat. He deeply inhaled and shook his head. Then he stepped out to face his best friend again. He was handed a tee right away.

“I brought you a fresh one.” John slowly took it and pulled it over his head.

“Thank you.” He slowly moved back to the sofa and poured a new drink. Sherlock followed him closely. They sat side by side on the sofa and looked at each other. John cleared his throat.

“Where were we when I shut down?”

“I had just told you about my feelings. It seems you were thinking about it or remembering something.”

“That's actually true. I remembered you and me on the sofa watching the Bond film. I have to admit I was scared. Later I was sad. You looked so disappointed but I didn't know what to do. That's why I just went to bed and left you behind.”

“I was sad, too. I didn't understand. I cried.”

“I like you a lot, Sherlock, I really do. I never said anything because I was scared to be denied. Because how could it ever be possible that you liked me? I mean, just look at me!” Sherlock looked at John.

“Yes?” Sherlock said.

“What do you see?” Sherlock smiled.

“I see a nicely shaped, jumper-clad, ex-army-doctor with sandy hair, even golden when the sun is shining.” John just stared at Sherlock.

“That was almost poetic ...” John had a goofy smile plastered on his face.

“It's what I see. You asked. I also like to smell you because you smell nice.”

“I smell nice?” Sherlock nodded.

“Yes, you do smell nice. You smell just a tiny bit of disinfectant. You smell a lot more like tea, wood, and vanilla. It's very male.”

“I don't know what to say ...”

“You could tell me what you see when you look at me.” Sherlock sipped his drink. John licked his lips and sorted through his thoughts.

“When I look at you, I see your wonderful hair and your non-coloured eyes. I see your long, elegant limbs and fingers. Your skin is like marble and your cheekbones could cut through the Times. When I pass by you, I smell your strawberry shampoo with which you shower, too. Sometimes I smell cigarettes. You smell like a beautiful sunny afternoon.” Now Sherlock was smiling, too.

“I would have never expected … You are a romantic, Dr Watson.” He blushed a bit.

“I guess I am. But so are you.”

“Only when it's about you.”

“I take that as a compliment.”

“Please do so.” They looked at each other and John had no idea where all this was leading to.

“Mycroft told me your nickname.” John looked up and just said:

“Yes?” Sherlock cleared his throat.

“Three-Continents-Watson. Whatever that means. Care to explain?” John didn't know if this was funny or not for Sherlock. He just told the truth.

“It means that I shagged several people on three different continents.” Sherlock stared at him. Then he cleared his throat.

“Well, this means you are well experienced with the sex thing.”

“You could say so, yes. Very well experienced.” Sherlock stood and refilled their tumblers.

“That's good because I am not. You will show me. Come on.” He held out John's drink for him. Automatically he took it and stood. He even followed Sherlock several steps but stopped dead when he entered his bedroom. He heard his clothes fall on the floor and he had to swallow.

“Where are you, John? Hurry up!” Shoes were toed off. John knew that sound.

“What are you doing, Sherlock?” He stayed outside.

“Getting naked. I googled it. We are going to have sex. That's why we have to get naked. Why aren't you still here? John?” Outside John just downed his drink and then entered Sherlock's bedroom. He was already down to his boxers. Again. Oh God, his arse. He swallowed.

“Sherlock, I can't just … We can't … It's not that simple!” Sherlock turned around and approached him.

“Why not?” Now he stood right in front of John.

“I thought you wanted me?”

“I want you more than anything, Sherlock. I just feel so, so helpless. You throw yourself at my feet. It feels like a sacrifice.” Sherlock shook his head, wanting to say something, but John stopped him.

“No, it is a sacrifice.” And Sherlock nodded.

“Yes, it is. I am giving you the only thing I can give you exclusively. I won't be able to do this again. I want you to be my first.” John's gut coiled and his chest constricted. This was almost too much. He reached out and pulled his head down by some strands of his hair. And then he kissed him. He could feel him tense a bit but then his arms came up and John was held tight. Sherlock really was stronger than he had expected. It was like his dream came true only the other way around. He moved him back all the time snogging his face off. Sherlock moaned but soon started to kiss back. His long fingers moved through John's fine hair.  
John finally broke the kiss and looked up into completely dilated pupils. Sherlock's eyes were blown. The expression on his face was excited and expectant. John looked at his crotch where his cock was still hidden behind his boxers. But he was hard. And he was already leaking. Carefully he reached out and pressed his palm on it. Sherlock jerked.

“Oh, God!” He almost shouted looking down at John who just smiled back.

“Does it feel good?” He tenderly moved his palm over his cock and felt Sherlock move against it.

“More than good. I had no idea. Please proceed.” John massaged him with small moves and drew circles with his fingertips. Sherlock stared down and saw his own prick growing until it poked over the hem of his boxers. John swallowed. It was much more than average. Sherlock hooked his fingers behind the hem and pulled his boxers down. They pooled around his ankles and he kicked them off.  
John took some steps back and looked at Sherlock. He cleared his throat.

“You are so beautiful; I can't believe it ...”

“John, please, let me see you, too.” John started to undress until they both were stark naked. Sherlock's eyes raked over John's body. Measuring, observing, and counting. John felt a bit scrutinised under his gaze. Slowly Sherlock came closer again.

“I want to touch you, too, John, please?” It came out more like a low rumble than a voiced question. John nodded and one step brought him close up. Sherlock's hands moved over his naked skin; his fingers dug into the flesh of his arse making John groan. And then a thought shot through his head. He looked up at Sherlock and asked:

“What else did you google? Hm?” Sherlock smiled proudly and lowered his head. Then he licked over John's right nipple, swirled his tongue around it, sucked a bit, blew his hot breath on him, and then finished with a lick again. John was rock-hard by now and leaking.

“I also watched some porn on your laptop. You never clear your browser-history so I got an idea of what you might like.”

“Jesus, fuck!” John thought.

“How deep did he look into my saved films?” He moved John backwards until he fell on his bed. Sherlock stepped between his legs and knelt on the floor. His palms were on John's thighs. He brought his face down and moved his nose over his cock sniffing him. He inhaled deeply.

“Musky ...” He throatily said making John shiver with need. He eyed the pre-cum oozing out of John's cock. Then he just licked it off. John watched him.

“Sherlock, you ...”

“Yes?” Now he looked at his balls.

“You did google a lot, didn't you?” Sherlock proudly nodded.

“I needed to be prepared; at least a little bit.” John sat up again and placed his hands on his shoulders.

“Let me now, Sherlock. Trust me and relax. Please get up here.” Sherlock stood at once and sprawled his long limbs over the bed. His cock rested upon his thigh. John ghosted kisses all over Sherlock's body until he fisted the sheets.

“I need to get upstairs into my room to get us some lube.”

“No need.” Sherlock said and reached under his pillow handing John the lube.

“You are well prepared, love ...” He took the lube and opened the lid. He slicked his fingers kneeling between Sherlock's knees. He pulled up his legs and placed his feet flat on the mattress. Expectantly he looked up at John.

“It is cold at first. It will burn. But this will be over soon. Just trust me, Sherlock.”

“I do, John. Always.” John's fingers slowly moved over his hole, circled it, and pressed down. His breath hitched and he closed his eyes. John's fingers moved restlessly until the outside muscle had loosened a bit so he could press his finger inside. Sherlock already clenched and fisted the sheets. John pushed some more and made him moan. Luckily, he was a doctor and had both paid attention in his anatomy lessons and several prostate examinations. He found Sherlock's very quickly making him buck up and clench.

“There you go. Does it feel good? Hm?”

“Oh God, yes. Don't stop. Please. Go on ...” John pushed his finger into him and soon enough made it two. He spread his insides, massaged his nub, and stroked over the untouched flesh until he heard him sob.   
Suddenly Sherlock sat up and held John by his shoulders. He intensely stared at him and roughly whispered:

“Come and be with me …” John swallowed and gently pulled out of his behind. He lowered him on his back and knelt between his spread legs. Sherlock’s hair clung against his skull. It was partly wet. He was sweaty and obscenely sexy. John looked at him for seconds before he lined up. Their fingers entwined and he started to move.  
Sherlock felt John’s cock press against his opening and he grit his teeth. But the pain only lasted a few seconds and then there was only bliss. He exhaled and tightened his grip around John’s fingers wondering if he hurt him. Both men were panting, groaning, and sweating.  
Soon enough Sherlock started to push up and move his hips with John. They stared into each other’s eyes.

“You are the most wonderful thing in the world …” John roughly whispered.

“I am almost there … Almost …” John closed his eyes and pressed into him. They were as close as they could.  
Sherlock was in awe. John liked him. John liked this. He held on to the ride but also felt his testicles pull up. His eyes widened and when he felt the rush of his orgasm, he shook with it. He wildly clenched and yelled the flat down. John could just stare at the force of nature that was Sherlock. The sounds he made, the moves he made, everything brought John to the most fantastic orgasm of his whole fucking life.  
They came together and when John had come down enough to see clearly several minutes had passed. His arms were shaking when he lifted his body up and fell to the side. Sherlock had completely blacked out but was breathing steadily. Gently John moved the hair off his forehead and pecked a kiss on his lips. There was no reaction but some twitching limbs.  
John looked to the side where a bottle with water was standing and he reached out for it. He devoured everything. Right then Sherlock came back to life and his big brain booted back up. At once he remembered everything and he started to sort it into some corners of his mind-palace which were reserved for everything about John. His lips turned into a smile and he slowly opened his eyes. He right away met John’s.

“Hey, gorgeous …” John roughly whispered and kissed him again. Sherlock was surprised.

“You are still here …” John shrugged.

“Yes, of course, I am still here. But if you want me to leave?” He offered and made a move. Sherlock was quick. He threw his body up and grabbed John’s wrist.

“No! You have to stay. Please?” He looked at him.

“Unless you want to leave?” He swallowed. But John shook his head.

“No, I don’t. I just need the loo. Don’t go away …” And he blew him a kiss. Sherlock blushed and carefully moved up against the headrest. His behind hurt a bit but his insides were still twisted. He felt amazing.  
John returned and brought water for Sherlock, too.

“Thank you.” He drank but kept looking at him. John knew there was more but he waited him out.

“John, I found pictures and films on your computer.” John cleared his throat and felt hot again.

“Yes? You didn’t seem to be too shocked since you didn’t run screaming.” John looked up and smiled a smug smile.

“No, I didn’t. I thought about it. I think it is exciting. I would like to try it.” Sherlock said.

“Try what? You have to be more specific.” John said making Sherlock swallow.

“Well, I want you to tie me to my bed and fuck me. I am sure you have the things we need?” He looked rather innocent saying it and it was so hot, John became hard again.

“You will be the death of me …” John muttered and lovingly touched him. Sherlock looked clueless.

“Does that mean you don’t want to do it?” Sherlock quietly asked. John looked up.

“What? No! I do want to. It was just, oh just forget it. I want it.” And he smiled up at him taking his hand.

“Good.” Sherlock relaxed.

“When?” He asked rather quickly afterwards. John grinned.  
"Not now. I am tired. It is already in the middle of the night. I am sorry, love. You have to be patient." John fell back into bed. Sherlock glared at him but joined him quickly.

"Do you promise to do it tomorrow?" Sherlock moved his long fingers over John's scarred skin and he closed his eyes in delight.

"Yes, I do promise. Now let me sleep, please?" He murmured sleepily and Sherlock replied something nasty but huddled close. They fell asleep.

***

The next day John almost overslept and had to hurry. He quickly showered and downed a cup of coffee while Sherlock slept. John swore when he stumbled over their clothes in the bedroom.

"Bloody hell!" He swore and even then his mate didn't wake. Now it was John who glared at him. But finally, he pecked a kiss on his head and left.

Sherlock wasn't very pleased when he woke and found John gone. He only had coffee and several cookies for breakfast and waited for him to come home. He didn't do anything that day except that he showered because he wanted to look nice for him. He also didn't want to be smelly.

All that meant he jumped John when he came home.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" He asked holding him at bay.

"You promised!" He looked all excited and finally John understood. It was in the middle of the afternoon but who cared? He licked his lips and looked up at him.

“I am not that young anymore. Give me a bit." Sherlock pulled at his clothes and shoved him back towards his bedroom.

"What do we need? Do you want me to do something? Get supplies? Where are your supplies?" He asked and John held his arms.

"Stop it right now. If you don't come down and relax I won't do anything at all. Do you understand?"

"You can help me relax?" He looked all innocent and even tilted his head. John licked his lips and gave him the look. 

"Have you been naughty?" He suddenly asked.

"What? No!" Sherlock at once denied even though John was sure he hadn't understood what was meant.

"Show me your beautiful body..." John roughly whispered. For a few seconds Sherlock just stood there and looked at John. Only when John raised a brow, he quickly shed his clothes.

"Beautiful!" John said and started to touch him. Sherlock got hard in seconds.

"May I undress you?" Sherlock quietly asked and John just nodded. He actually didn't want anything kinky. He just wanted to make love to Sherlock. They could play any time later but not now. 

Soon they were both stark naked and rock-hard. They kissed and groaned into each other's mouths. John's hand moved over Sherlock's six-pack and he panted while being touched.

"I am going to fuck you over every piece of furniture and I am going to start with your desk. Move!" John ordered and shoved him over. Sherlock lowered his body over the many papers and documents and held on to the edge. He even spread his long legs.

"Perfect!" John licked his fingers and rubbed over his hole. Sherlock was tight and he was pleading already. John tried to push inside and slowly made it. Sherlock groaned loudly but didn't complain. He seemed to like it a bit rough.

"Harder! John, harder!" He shouted and John grabbed him tightly. He would leave bruises but didn't mind. He just kept fucking Sherlock hard and rough. The table rattled and papers floated off the desk. they made a mess, mostly when Sherlock came all over the desk yelling the place down. John held him up until he knelt on the hardwood with his eyes closed. 

"This was fucking amazing..." Sherlock roughly whispered still shaking. John could just nod.

"You could say that..." He smugly grinned. They looked at each other and it turned John on how Sherlock looked down there on his knees right in front of him. Sherlock grinned, too, but John denied him.

"No way, love. I am a bit famished.” John rubbed over his stomach. Sherlock raised his brow and sighed.

“Well, old man, I will order something to eat for you.” He stood and walked all naked through the bedroom and out of it. And he made sure that John could see everything.

“Oi, Sherlock!” Someone shouted and John thought it sounded like Lestrade. He grinned and grabbed Sherlock’s bathrobe. He followed him outside and watched quite the scene.

Sherlock leant against the kitchen-counter looking very smug. He had his arms crossed in front of his chest to make sure Lestrade was able to see everything down below. He wasn’t shy at all.  
Lestrade had blushed and looked everywhere, only not at Sherlock. John grinned.

“Greg, hi.” His head shot around and he looked relieved that John was dressed. He cleared his throat.

“John, I am sorry. But …” He shook his head.

“Never mind. We just wanted to order something to eat. Are you hungry, too? Would you like to join?” Now Sherlock looked at John and seemed a bit surprised. Lestrade smiled.

“Yes, I’d like that. Thank you.” He fell onto a chair and on a second thought he added:

“Only if Sherlock gets dressed though.” He was more relaxed by then.

“Pedestrian.” Sherlock muttered but gracefully moved back into the bedroom.

“You and him then? It took some time.” Lestrade said looking at John.

“Yes, it just sort of happened. And it’s amazing. He is amazing.”

“So, he just acted all around, didn’t he?” Lestrade assumed.

“Yes, of course. He faked the drowning, he faked the cut and whatever else he faked, I simply don’t know.” John shrugged.

“But I don’t care. We are together now. And I love him.” He dreamily smiled. Lestrade smiled, too.

“I am happy for you two. Are you going to order take-away now?” John stood and nodded.

“Yes, I would like something from the Indian restaurant. What about you?”

“Sounds good.” Lestrade agreed and made himself comfortable.

“I’ll get properly dressed. There’s beer in the fridge.” Lestrade stood up and only hesitated for a few seconds until he opened the door. John grinned and got dressed. When he returned from his room upstairs, he could still hear him rummage in the bedroom.

“Did you hear him order yet?” John asked and Lestrade shook his head. John went to see Sherlock and found him with his head in his wardrobe.

“What are you doing, Sherlock? Why didn’t you want to talk to Greg? He is your friend.” John asked standing behind him. Sherlock looked helpless.

“You think? Anyway, I didn’t want to talk about us while you weren’t present. I didn’t know if you were OK with me talking about us. I …” There he stopped and just shrugged. John pulled him into his arms.

“Oh, dear. It’s no secret. I just told him, he assumed it anyway.” Sherlock relaxed in his hold.

“I see. Well, then I could order our food now since you invited him so nicely?” John once slapped him on his behind and he yelped and blushed. John liked the sound and the look.

“Indian, please.” Sherlock nodded.

“As you wish.” They smiled and Sherlock looked for his mobile while getting dressed properly. John went back to join Greg with another beer and some nosh for a starter.

“Sherlock looks relaxed.” Lestrade said sipping his beer.

“I think he got what he wanted.” John said grinning and had some beer, too. Both men grinned now.

“Oh, don’t be so smug about it.” Sherlock said and dropped on his armchair.

“I ordered our food. Did you bring new files?” He asked Greg.

“Yes, I did. I placed them on the coffee table over there.” Lestrade answered.

“And?” Sherlock wanted to know.

“Two sixes, one four and three eight to nine, I would say.” Lestrade shrugged.

“Huh, OK. I will have a look and tell you time come.” He seemed not very pleased but Greg let it pass. John looked from Greg to Sherlock and finally asked.

“What was that about?” He didn’t understand.

“Hasn’t he told you yet?” John shook his head.

“Told me what? I only know he solves cases. I had no idea there were conditions.” Lestrade snorted.

“Well, he won’t leave Baker Street for less than a seven.”

“But he solves all the cases you bring him.” Lestrade nodded.

“Yes, he does, but not on the scene. I send him the file with pictures and everything he wants. He doesn’t always come, you see?”

“Oh, I think I do. But it works anyway, doesn’t it?” They looked at each other and grinned. In the meantime, Sherlock had rummaged through the files and returned one folder.

“Here you are. Call the victim’s sister and ask about her diamond-ring.” Sherlock said dropping the folder.

“Why?” Lestrade caught it and looked up at Sherlock who sat on John’s armrest now.

“She is your killer. It’s rather obvious.” Now it was Greg’s turn to sigh but he just accepted it. Sherlock slid down on John’s lap. The door-bell rang, they heard the steps and then it knocked.

“That’s our food.” John said.

“Yes, I know.” Sherlock answered and looked at Greg.

“Please? I am so comfy right now.” Greg just stood and opened the door. He took the food and found some cash stuck to the door. He smiled and paid. He carried it into the kitchen and collected plates and cutlery. He even set up the table for them. John wondered how he knew but didn’t ask.

“Get up, love. I am hungry and so are you.” He shoved him off his lap and Sherlock pouted but he also rubbed his stomach.

“Yes, I am.” He quickly moved over and sat down. John followed suit but thought of bringing more beer for everyone. They sat and ate quietly for several minutes until Sherlock suddenly looked up at Greg.

“What do you want, Sherlock?” Greg asked.

“I am just wondering about Mycroft and you.” He slowly replied. Greg raised a brow.

“There is no Mycroft and me.” Greg replied. Now Sherlock raised a brow.

“But I thought...” Sherlock murmured and sounded very disappointed.

“You are thinking too much. We are just friends. I offered him comfort and we had dinner at his place.”

“And nothing happened between you?” Sherlock was very insistent. Now Greg stopped eating.

“What should have happened?” Greg really was absolutely clueless. Sherlock glared at him.

“Something intimate should have happened. It should have because I am never wrong.” Sherlock muttered stuffing more naan into his mouth. Greg looked at John who just shrugged.

“You do like my brother, don't you?” Sherlock wouldn't stop. Greg leant back in his chair.

“God, Sherlock! Yes, I like your brother but I don't want to shag him! Have I made myself clear by now?” He seriously stared into his eyes and Sherlock swallowed. Then he cast his eyes.

“I am sorry, Lestrade. My mistake.” He didn't utter another word that evening. After all the food was gone John and Greg sat on the sofa. Sherlock was hiding in the bath.

“You look happy, John.” Lestrade said sipping his drink. John smiled.

“I am. Very much so.” They locked eyes for a second. Suddenly Greg fell back into the sofa and groaned.

“Sherlock was right.” He admitted.

“About what?” John asked.

“About his brother. I do like him. Very much. A bit too much. But he never reacts to anything.” Greg murmured with his eyes still closed.

“What did you do?” John simply asked.

“I flirted with him. I made compliments. I tried to get close.” Suddenly Sherlock stood behind the sofa.

“If he doesn't respond, you are only flirting _at_ him, Lestrade. Plus, he doesn't know anything about compliments. Real compliments. He is like me. I was like him.” His hand moved over John's head and Greg smiled.

“But what else can I do?” Greg asked while John topped up their drinks.

“Make him jealous.” John suddenly said and both Greg and Sherlock stared at him now.

“What?” Greg asked.

“It's what I did when I was younger. It always worked.” John grinned.

“But I would hurt someone else in the process. I don't want that.” Greg shook his head.

“Why don't you ask Inspector Dimmock? You are friends, aren't you? He likes you but not like that. I am sure he would help you.” Sherlock suggested. John agreed quietly.

“You two are wicked beasts.” Lestrade murmured and emptied his tumbler.

“Mostly in bed.” Sherlock nodded and John blushed.

“I'll be leaving now. Tomorrow I will talk to Dimmock. But how will your brother find out?” Greg asked.

“Oh, he will find out since he is watching everything interesting to him over CCTV. Meaning he is watching you.”

“But if he thinks me interesting, why doesn't he react?” Greg asked being clueless.

“Because he is Mycroft.” Sherlock said.


	4. Feelings

The next morning Greg called Dimmock into his office and asked him to close the door. The Inspector stood in front of Greg's desk and felt sick.

“What did I do wrong, Greg?” He quietly asked and it made Greg look up. He hadn't realised that this situation normally meant something a bit not good. He quickly stood and came around his desk.

“No, no, no. You did nothing wrong. I have a favour to ask for.” Greg explained.

“Oh, thank God...” Dimmock rubbed over his forehead and sat down. Greg poured coffee.

“OK, this is a bit weird, I have to admit. But please just listen to me. You can say no and I won't be disappointed.”

“That sounds interesting weird, not bad weird. Shoot!” Dimmock looked excited and leant forward. And Greg explained the situation. After he was done, he expectantly looked at Dimmock who simply stared at him.

“What will happen to me? If you make Sherlock's powerful brother jealous, he will tell the minister responsible to send me to some Scottish outpost. Or worse.” Now Greg had to laugh.

“Nonsense. I just want to lure him out. Nothing will happen to you.” Greg ensured him.

“OK, I'll do it. This is something new. I have never done such a thing.” He rubbed his hands.

“We will go out for dinner and drinks. You have to come to my flat and spend the night. I will even hand over the bedroom and sleep on the sofa. Sherlock's thinks it only needs four days until he shows up.”

“That's OK, I can take the sofa since you are taller. I don't mind. But what about the Yard? They surely will notice.” Dimmock said.

“No, they won't since nothing out of the ordinary happens. In here I will be your superior. And I surely won't make you touch or kiss me in public. Because of the Yard. That's the explanation why we behave in public like we do.”

“That's quite the conspiracy indeed. When do we start?” Now Dimmock looked excited.

“Right away, if you don't mind.” Greg said looking at him.

“No, not at all. So, dinner tonight, love?” Dimmock gave him the puppy eyes and Greg laughed.

“Yes, dinner and afterwards the pub tonight. Could you come to my flat? You should know, he has CCTV trained on me. Sherlock told me.” Dimmock looked at him for several seconds.

“That's sick. But what about your flat then?” He asked.

“Sherlock already checked everything in the morning. My flat is clean. I won't have to jump you.” Both men laughed.

***

Greg left rather early and prepared for his night out with Dimmock. He showered and carefully dressed. He opened the door for him and pulled him inside with a beaming smile on his face.

“You dressed up!” Dimmock said.

“You look different!” Greg said. They both looked rather stunning when they left a few minutes later very close to each other. Dimmock opened the car for Greg and gently placed his hand on his lower back. They rode over to a fancy restaurant in Soho and had a wonderful dinner. They talked about several cases and Greg ensured Dimmock that his work was very good.  
After dinner, they walked into a pub nearby and they walked slowly, even stopping sometimes, looking into each other's eyes and into shop windows. They stood at the bar and had a pint each. In there it was too loud to talk. Several times they walked into the back yard to smoke. And everywhere they spent time, both inside and outside places, there was CCTV.

They had a good time and took a cab home. Dimmock left his car behind and called a colleague to ride it home after his shift. They reached Greg's flat and since it was dark and quiet and no one else was around, except CCTV, Greg took Dimmock's hand and pulled him close. They giggled like school-boys and Greg closed the door.  
At once Greg dropped his hand and exhaled.

“Wow, that was quite the night...” Dimmock shook his head and walked into the living room. Greg poured two glasses with water and sat down in an armchair.

“I bet he is very, very jealous.” Greg smirked.

“What if he just gives up on you?” Dimmock asked but Greg at once shook his head.

“No, that won't happen. Mycroft Holmes never loses.” Dimmock finished his water.

“Well, I do really hope he won't have me sent to an outpost of our beloved Empire.” Greg grinned.

“No, he won't. And if something comes up, we will stop this game at once. You don't have to worry.”

“I'll take out your bedding. I am really tired.” Greg yawned and Dimmock went through his bathroom-routine. When he came out Greg had brought a blanket and a pillow for him and made the sofa ready. It actually could be changed into a bed.

“I didn't know that. It will work perfectly.” Dimmock was relieved.

“Yeah, I bought it when I had Sherlock stay with me. He occupied my bed, of course, he did, and I slept on this beauty.” Greg remembered that time vividly.

“Holmes stayed with you?” Dimmock asked already sitting down.

“Yes. You haven't been with us yet. I had found him in a drug den. He was unconscious and almost dead already. I brought him in and his brother made him detox. He ran away and stood in front of my door telling me I was the only one he could bear having around. His brother supported me during that time and helped out when I needed to get time off from work. Sherlock became clean again and stayed anyway from drugs. We had a good time.” Greg smiled shaking his head.

“But you two weren't, haven't...” Dimmock didn't know how to word this. Greg looked up.

“No, Dimmock. There never was anything sexual between Sherlock and me. We are just friends.”

“So that was years ago. Since when does his spooky brother stalk you?” He asked.

“Actually, I don't know. You know, I always liked him, found him attractive even. But I never would have thought that he was after me, too. And now he is holding back and I don't know why. So here we are.” Greg shrugged.

“I think I need to go to bed. This is complicated shit.” Dimmock crawled under the blanket.

“It sure is. Good night, Dimmock.” Greg disappeared into the bath and switched off the light.

***

Mycroft stared at his computer. His face was blank and his guts had coiled during the long hours he had been sitting in his office manipulating CCTV.

What was Gregory doing? Why was he with Dimmock? This wasn't right. He worried his lips and topped up his tumbler with whiskey. And if he doesn't like Gregory being with this Inspector, why wasn't he acting appropriately?  
He thought, Gregory liked him. He accepted his dinner invitation and seemed to have liked it. He enjoyed their evening but nothing had happened. Gregory had been exceptionally nice to him. Mycroft had enjoyed their time together. He would have liked to have more.   
Mycroft didn't understand why Gregory hadn't acted. He had been waiting.

What could he do now? Should he ask Sherlock? Or John? Anthea? Or should he simply approach directly? Mycroft Holmes was no coward, wasn't he? He was a grown-up, wasn't he? He held power, didn't he? He would go and see Gregory tomorrow. He would pay him a visit at his office. He would find a reason to be there.   
Oh yes, a reason. He sat up straight and a thin smile appeared. He would engage him with a government operation and take him away. Away from Dimmock. And if there wasn't a suitable operation at hand, he would create one. Pleased with himself he shut down the computer.

***

The next day started like any other day. Greg had coffee inside his office and Dimmock was somewhere questioning witnesses in a cold case Sherlock had solved. Greg was just typing a report when it knocked on his door. He looked up and the door was already opened. In stepped Mycroft Holmes. Greg slowly leant back in his chair and smiled up at him.

“Mycroft, good morning. What brings you here?” Mycroft closed the door and approached his desk.

“Gregory, good morning to you, too. Government business does bring me here. I need your help and support with this matter.” Greg was very suspicious but didn't let it show.

“Sure, please sit down. Would you like a coffee?” Greg asked but Mycroft shook his head. He leant his umbrella against the desk and got out of his coat. He hung it by the door and sat down. He crossed his long legs and Greg swallowed.

“No, thank you, Gregory.” They looked at each other. After a few minutes, Greg leant forward raising a brow.

“What do you need?” He asked. Mycroft's guts coiled and his cheeks probably were colouring right now.

“As I have said already, I need your help. It's rather urgent. But you need to go to Bristol for it. I understand if this makes things uncomfortable for you but I'd appreciate it.” Greg shrugged.

“I could go. I am sure you will excuse me to my Super, won't you?” Greg said all smile.

“Yes, of course.” Mycroft quickly nodded. Again, a minute passed between them.

“And what am I supposed to do in Bristol?” Greg asked. Mycroft cleared his throat.

“Surveillance. I need someone I trust, not an agent of mine, to follow a certain subject. In Bristol. It might take a few days. Of course, England will pay for all your expenses such as hotel and food and whatever you will have to spend money for.”

“I can do that.” Greg ensured him and sipped his by now cold coffee. He was rather amused and wondered how far Mycroft would go with his.

“Do you own formal evening attire?” Mycroft asked.

“What do you mean by that? Like James Bond? Dinner jacket and such? No, Mycroft, I don't own such things because I don't need them.” Mycroft kept looking at him.

“Anyway. Could you leave this afternoon?” He asked standing up again. Greg's eyes followed him.

“Yes. I will hand over my files to both Donovan and Dimmock. They will manage without me. And don't forget to tell my Super that England needs me. Otherwise I will lose my job and need to live in the streets.” Mycroft didn't comment but took his coat from the hanger. He reached inside and handed over an envelope.

“These are your travel documents. Look at them right away. I will contact you tonight.” He snatched his umbrella and just left. The door closed and Greg sat down again.

“Bloody hell!” He exclaimed and opened the envelope. There was a reservation for a luxury hotel suite as well as a ticket for a plane from London City Airport for the very day at five o'clock. It also held a secure mobile and a black credit card. Greg swallowed. The name on the card even was his own. He gingerly placed it into his wallet. There were also several sheets of paper but Greg decided to read those later.  
Next, he collected the actual files and folders and gave them to both Donovan and Dimmock. Donovan raised a brow but didn't comment. In fact, she was rather happy to work without supervision. Dimmock though took the folders with a grin.

“It worked then? Was that bloke who just came to see you him?” He whispered looking around for anybody who could be listening in. Greg nodded.

“Yes, that was him. He robs me of your company and sends me away to Bristol.” Both men smirked.

“For how long?” Dimmock asked curiously.

“Several days. If something comes up, call me. Donovan got half of the open cases. Your half is the one Sherlock has already looked over. You work better with him. It's for the better he avoids Sally. She also doesn't know where I am going. Help each other out, if you can.”

“Sure will. Have fun!” Dimmock grinned and Greg gave him the middle finger. He powered down his computer and took his coat. He left his car behind and used the tube to get home. He was well aware of the cameras everywhere. Back home he packed a bag. He also got a paperback and his tablet. Inside the envelope had been a note saying that he would be picked up by four o'clock.  
He was ready on time and stood outside when a black sedan pulled up. The driver got out and took his bag from him. Greg only took his backpack with him. His bag was stored into the trunk. He had hoped Mycroft would be sitting in the car but he was the only passenger. They reached the airport on time and he was ushered into a lounge for private passengers. Someone else took care of the check-in for his bag. This was something Greg had never done before. But he liked it. There were drinks and snacks being offered, as well as newspapers from all over the world. Even books were given away for free.

At first, Greg hesitated but then took two spy novels and stuck them into his backpack. Then a flight attendant approached him.

“Sir, these are the vouchers for your luggage.” He handed over two slips of paper.

“There must be a mistake. I only had one bag checked in.” Greg looked at the man.

“A suitcase was added by Mr Holmes, Sir.” Now Greg took the slips and quietly sighed.

“I see. Thank you.” He stuck these into his wallet, too. He had a bit of time left and dared to order a drink. He really began to enjoy this while watching his surroundings and the other people inside the lounge. Half an hour later another man approached him and Greg expectantly looked at him. It was already twenty minutes after five o'clock.

“Your jet is ready for take-off, Sir. Please follow me.” Greg just stood and followed him. Then it suddenly dawned. He would be the only passenger on a private jet.

This was just awesome! He grinned and walked over the tarmac. There really was a jet parking. He was beginning to feel like a Bond. Greg Bond. He could barely suppress a giggle when he climbed up the stair into the jet. Inside there were a few leather chairs as well as a female flight attendant.

“Good day, Sir. Welcome on board.” She looked eerily familiar but only after he had fastened his seatbelt it dawned. It had been Anthea or whatever her name was. What did she know? Did Mycroft tell her that he was sent on a fake mission on a not fake jet?

She sat opposite of him and after take-off, she simply poured drinks. He automatically took his and looked at her. She sighed and crossed her legs. She really was very attractive.

“Mr Holmes doesn't know I am here. I just want to know what is going on. Why are you going to Bristol? What did he tell you? And why is my boss so fascinated by CCTV these days? He even had new cameras installed. Curiously so close to the Yard and your place.” Greg was surprised. He knew it would be for the better if he could pull her over onto his side. He once sipped and sat more comfortably. He looked directly into her eyes and started to talk.

***

Anthea at first started to giggle but finally outright laughed. She shook her head and wiped the tears off her face.

“It's really not that funny.” Greg felt a bit ashamed but also felt the urge to giggle.

“Yes, it is. You two are simply impossible. You are grown-up men and behave like teenagers. Whose idea was it to make Mr Holmes jealous?” She asked.

“It was John's idea. Sherlock also approved.” She blew her nose.

“Why did I ask? And obviously Dimmock thought it fun, as well?” Greg nodded and soon after shrugged.

“What do you think? I mean, does he ever talk about me?” He almost looked hopeful.

“No, he doesn't. But I know he has his eyes on your cases in case you need things to be smoothed out. And this? He did send you on a real mission. There is someone to be followed and kept under surveillance. He can finish work and get you out of Dimmock's way. He thinks.” She snorted.

“Do you know about the suitcase he sent?” She shook her head.

“No, I don't. But I can assume. I won't though to not spoil your surprise when you open it.” She grinned.

“The person I have to follow and watch, is he dangerous? Who is he?” Greg asked.

“Didn't you read the notes from the envelope?” She asked.

“I stopped looking at things after I have found the information about this flight and the black bloody credit-card.” She quietly laughed.

“You can read it in your rooms. But I advise you to do it soon. You will be on your own.” The plane touched down and rolled to a parking-position. Another black sedan already waited on the tarmac. The door was opened and the stairs fell down. At the same time, his bag and a nice leather suitcase were unloaded and brought into the car. Greg nodded at Anthea and she smiled back at him.  
Greg was driven to his hotel. He was led into his suite and his luggage followed a second later.

“Would you like me to help you unpack, Sir?” Greg woke and looked at the man who was dressed like a butler. It probably was a butler.

“No, absolutely not.” Greg replied.

“Very well, Sir. My number is listed by the phone if you need anything. Have a nice evening.” He bowed and left. Greg quickly locked the door and started to inspect the suite. It actually had a separate bedroom and the bath was bigger than his flat at home. He eyed the whirlpool and finally found the bar. He once turned around and grinned. Then he wondered about cameras in here. Mycroft had planned all this. Greg thought about giving him a show but at first, he opened the doors onto the terrace because this actually was a penthouse suite. He stepped outside and had a wonderful look at the city in front and below.  
But he also thought about his duties and finally sat down to read the information about his job and the person he needed to watch. There were several pictures of a man. His name was Roy Masterson. He was a business-man aka crime-lord and now was suspected to sell secrets to both China and Russia.  
Afterwards, Greg began to be curious about the contents of the added suitcase. He opened the zip and carefully touched the soft leather. He flapped the top open and gingerly took the first item out. It was a bag that contained a pair of dress shoes. Black and polished. He put them by the door. Two suits followed, a wonderful dark grey suit with a white dress shirt and tie as well as a dark blue one and another cream coloured-shirt. He would be able to combine all of these with each other. Such a beautiful choice, it looked as if made for him, tailored for him.

“Bloody hell...” It was absolutely his style if he could afford things like this. There also was a wash-bag that held the most expensive shower gel, shampoo, and after-shave. There even was some eau de toilette. Greg opened them all and sniffed. It smelled wonderful. He arranged everything in the bath and wondered what to do next. But then he just unpacked his bag and inspected the bedroom. The bed was large and over-sized. He pulled back the cover and threw it on the carpet. He pulled back the blanket and shook it. The sheets felt cool and nice. He threw himself on the bed and found it especially nice. Then his mobile dinged. He pulled it out of his trousers and opened the message.

_“Anthea called and ensured us she approves of our plan. How is Bristol?”  
SH_

Greg grinned and made a selfie in the bedroom.

_“So far just perfect!”  
GL_

He added the picture and hit _send_.

_“Sherlock is packing. He wants to come since this is a real case.”  
JW_

Greg raised a brow.

_“But this will blow our cover! He can't spoil this!”  
GL_

Greg was worried.

_“He can make it look coincidentally. He says not to worry.”  
JW_

_“Then come tomorrow. I want to enjoy tonight.”  
GL_

_“Will do. See you!”  
JW_

Greg sighed. Then he turned his head when his second mobile dinged. This was the one Mycroft had given him. He got it out of his back-pack and read the message.

_“Your dinner reservation is at eight o'clock for the restaurant downstairs. Mr Masterson will be there, too. I need to know with whom he talks and what he is up to.”  
MH_

“Thanks for asking, Myc. The flight was nice and I have arrived safely.” Greg snorted. He probably was supposed to dress up. He showered and got ready. He looked into the mirror and posed. He really looked different and he took another selfie. The things all fitted perfectly. Greg hated the fact that he had to give it all back.  
The card-shaped room-key was stored into his wallet, too, and he walked downstairs into the restaurant. He was led over to a nice table by the window. This place was so exclusive that there only were two menus. Greg read over it and if he hadn't been both of French origin and taught French cuisine by his grandfather, he would have been lost.  
Well, probably Mycroft thought he would be lost. He would give him the middle-finger without actually doing it. He signalled for the waiter and ordered in fluent French and also accepted the wine recommendation. This was going to be expensive for England.  
He tried the wine and approved of it. Very much so. When his soup arrived, a man sat down at the table by his right. It was the culprit. Soon a Chinese woman joined him. He politely stood and Greg thought it wasn't suspicious for a man to goggle a beautiful woman. So, he openly stared with the spoon lifted half-way up. Her face didn't show any emotion but her eyes sparkled. Greg flashed her a broad smile. Mr Masterson cleared his throat and angrily looked at him. Greg smirked and concentrated back on his soup.  
The Chinese woman only stayed for a glass of wine and then left. Not without giving Greg the look. When she passed his table, she dropped a card. He quickly picked it up and it showed the number of her room. He really, really hoped that Mycroft had cameras in here. Surely the hotel had.  
Greg was finishing his main course when a man arrived at Mr Masterson's table. Greg had a closer look. He was tall and blond and very attractive. Their eyes met. He had green eyes. The right side of his mouth lifted a tiny fraction and Greg beamed. Again, Mr Masterson couldn't hide his anger. Greg quietly snickered.  
He emptied a glass of wine before his dessert was brought. Greg unconsciously licked his lips before he dove into the chocolate dream. He finished his bottle very slowly because the Russian hadn't yet left. He stayed much longer than the Chinese woman.  
Suddenly though the voices on his right were raised and the tall Russian stood pushing the chair away. He glared at Mr Masterson and probably said something nasty. Greg didn't speak Russian but it sounded so not good. Mr Masterson shrugged and the Russian stomped away. But not without dropping a piece of paper on Greg's table. Another room number then. Greg stored it away. He was very pleased with himself.  
He wondered if he should try and talk to the Chinese woman or the Russian man. But perhaps it was too dangerous. Greg wasn't a coward though. He had been sent on a mission to find out about Masterson's secrets. He wouldn't find out when talking to Masterson because he was still looking very angry in his direction.  
Greg decided and signed the invoice. He took the copy and stored it into his wallet. He longed for a cigarette but knew he had a job to do. He decided to try the woman first. On his way to her room, he checked the mobile Mycroft gave him. It actually showed a new message.

_”Do not go after them by yourself!”  
MH_

Greg raised a brow. Was Mycroft worried? Why? He had sent him to bring back intel, hadn't he? He typed a reply.

_”You sent me here all by myself. What else could I do?”  
GL_

The elevator dinged and he exited on her floor. He slowly walked over the aisle waiting for a reaction.

_“Just do what I tell you. Stay back!”  
MH_

That was definitely the wrong thing to do. Greg became angry and shut off the mobile. He stuffed it back into his pocket and reached her door. He breathed several times and knocked. He could hear her approach. The door got unlocked and opened. Greg straightened up and smiled at her. She only wore a silken gown that left almost nothing to his imagination. She gestured him inside and he entered. He closed the door and followed her deeper into the room.

“Would you like another glass of wine?” She asked in an accent he had never heard before.

“Yes, please. Thank you.” She opened a bottle and filled two glasses. He carefully watched her but she didn't drop an arsenic pill or whatever into the wine. They clinked glasses and drank.

“I hoped you would come.” She whispered moving up closer.

“You surprised me.” Greg whispered back grinning at her words. Perhaps he would. Come. Just to annoy a certain Holmes.

“What are you doing in Bristol?” She asked reaching out for him. Greg could feel her warmth.

“Boring business but it has to be done.” Now her hand rested on his chest.

“I know what you are talking about. Boring. Business.” She quietly laughed. Greg covered her hand with his.

“You are far from home. And I even don't know your name.” Greg used his other hand to touch the side of her head. Her long black hair felt as silky as her gown.

“You may call me Sun.” She said shoving her fingers beneath the buttons of his dress shirt.

“You may call me Greg.” He slowly lowered his head. Her free hand suddenly was between his legs. She wiggled her fingers and Greg swallowed. He instantly got a hard-on.

“Very impressive.” She said tightening her fingers around his cock. He just pulled her close and pressed his lips on hers. He felt her tense. Suddenly she grabbed him and threw him towards the bed. She moved quickly and he ended up on the blanket. He was rather disoriented and also a bit shocked. She jumped and straddled his waist.

“I don't like to be dominated.” She hissed the words. Greg was just a tiny bit scared and opted for safety.

“Forgive me, Sun. I didn't mean to anger you.” He spoke low-voiced and opened his eyes wide. She looked at him for several seconds until a smile came up again.

“I will be kissing you now...” Her voice was raspy and she lowered her head. And she was a bloody artist. Greg's cock threatened to burst out of his trousers and he groaned. He didn't touch her back though. Suddenly the door burst open and a very drunken man stood in the room. Greg tore his eyes open and couldn't believe what he saw. He opened his mouth to speak but the man was faster.

“What are you two doing in my room?” His voice slurred and he sat on the bed. Sun, or whatever her name was, angrily got off of Greg.

“This is my room. Get out of here at once!” She pointed to the door and the man blearily looked at her.

“Your room?” He kept looking at her and then suddenly roared out a horrible burp. She pulled a face and turned her head. Greg met the man's eyes. The so not coloured eyes of Sherlock Holmes.

***

Sherlock slowly stood and swayed backwards bowing a bit.

“Forgive me...” He giggled. Greg got off the bed and adjusted his clothes. He looked at Sun.

“I should see that he gets to his room. We'll be seeing each other later.” He actually felt sorry but he also knew that Sherlock never would have broken in here without a very good reason. Him being here, that fact alone, made it an urgent matter. This somehow had become more than a party-trick they played on Mycroft Holmes.   
He followed him outside and into the elevator. Only in there Sherlock dropped the act and looked him over.

“Are you OK?” He asked. Greg sighed.

“Yes, I am. Why did you do that?” He asked and followed Sherlock when he left the elevator on Greg's floor.

“She is the most dangerous assassin known to me. She could have killed you with her pinkie. You shouldn't have gone to her room only to mess with my brother.” Sherlock said.

“How did you manage to open her door anyway?” Sherlock held up a key-card. It actually was a master key-card and now he opened Greg's room with it. And inside waited John Watson.

“God, you are alright.” He obviously relaxed.

“Why are you having this key-card?” Greg asked taking it off of Sherlock.

“Because I pretended to be my brother.” Sherlock smirked.

“He can do that.” John nodded and shook his head at the same time.

“He actually texted me to warn me.” Greg said sitting down.

“And why didn't you do what he told you?” John asked.

“Because he ordered me around like a minion. He texted rudely and impolite and he provoked me to go and see her.”

“Oh, now I understand.” Sherlock said opening the door to the terrace. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. Greg followed him at once and even John stepped outside but kept out of smoke's way.

“You behaved like a stupid teenager, Greg.” John said and Sherlock pulled a face.

“And what does he do? He sends me away on a mission, an actual mission, to keep me away from Dimmock. He got me into danger to begin with.” Greg sounded angry.

“But it was our idea to fake a relationship with Dimmock. He only reacted to that.” John quietly said.

“But even Anthea approved.” Sherlock said.

“Perhaps Mycroft underestimated the Chinese woman?” John wondered.

“He would never endanger Lestrade.” Sherlock sounded convinced. Suddenly it knocked and both John and Sherlock looked at him.

“I haven't invited anyone.” He said.

“See who it is and find out what it wants.” Sherlock whispered and pulled John into the bedroom leaving the door a bit open. Greg sighed and shook his head but went to do it.

“Who is this?” He asked.

“This is Sergei. We have met earlier. Open the door, please?” His Russian accent was thick and Greg opened. At once the Russian rushed inside shoving him back. He kicked the door close and pushed Greg onto the sofa.

“I gave you my room-number bur you haven't come. So, I came to you.” He grinned and showed a row of strong white teeth. Greg swallowed.

“I had a good reason, you know? I am not alone.” He stage-whispered. And a few seconds later a ruffled John appeared.

“What the fuck is going on here? Who is this bloody Ivan?” He asked with spread legs and a full military look on him. The Russian, Sergei, gave him a once over and decided it was better to let go of Greg.

“I am very sorry. I had no idea. Good-bye.” He had lifted his arms and John moved him backwards and out of the suite.

“Jesus, John. How did you do that? You seemed to be taller than Sherlock right now.” Greg stared at John who still radiated anger and strength.

“I don't know what you are talking about.” John said and suddenly Sherlock was there, too.

“But I know...” Sherlock said looking admiringly at him. Greg just shook his head.

“What are we doing now? If this is a real mission, we can't just give up.” Greg stood and got rid of his jacket.

“You are right. Both the Chinese woman and the Russian are spies. Do you have any ideas what Masterson wants to sell? It surely was mentioned in the notes Mycroft gave you?” John said.

“Yes, I just might haven't read the total...” Greg said.

“What?” John exclaimed.

“Where are the notes?” Sherlock asked and Greg pointed them out on the desk.

“You left these on your desk? Openly? With their pictures?” Sherlock glared at Lestrade.

“I am not a bloody spy!” Greg spat out the words.

“No, you are a bloody idiot!” Sherlock spat back. Both men glared at each other until John stepped between them

“Don't!” Greg turned away first. Sherlock looked at John and his eyes were dark. Dark and guilty.

“Lestrade, I need you to look at this. Try and see if these have been moved while you were away.” Sherlock quietly said. Greg came back and had a closer look.

“No, this looks like I left it. I only scanned it and then threw everything on the desk.” He shrugged. Sherlock picked up the documents and sat down to read them. John pulled Greg to the side.

“He hacked into the hotel security system and scanned every single name and face of everyone who arrived around the same time as Masterson. The moment he saw the Chinese woman he made me pack. He called Anthea who arranged a car for us. He rode like a maniac to get here. He really was very worried about you.” John tried to explain Sherlock's action. Greg listened calmly.

“I know he cares for me. He never really shows but I just know it.” Greg smiled looking at John.

“Anthea thinks Mycroft will show up tomorrow. I don't know if we should still be here by then. And with us I mean Sherlock and me.” John said.

“You can't leave me alone with him.” Greg sounded shocked.

“But isn't that what you wanted?” John asked.

“Shit, yes! But not like this. He will be angry and probably kick my arse. He surely doesn't like to be played with.”

“No, he doesn't. But he will understand if you explain everything to him. Why you, we, did this thing with Dimmock.”

“Will you stay in the hotel?” Greg asked and John nodded.

“Yes, Sherlock already booked us a room close to yours. Not as nice as this one though. I just might take a bottle with me.” John grinned and the sight made Greg smile again, too.

“Yeah, you do that. It's all on England. At least I hope so because if he charges me with this, I will need a second and third job to pay it.” Greg gloomily said. Sherlock slowly came over. He had sort of undressed because his feet were naked and his jacket was gone, too. His shirt was half-open. John raised a brow.

“I think I know what Masterson wants to sell. It's no bloody state secret. I think Mycroft actually sent you here just to get you out of the way. He couldn't have known that the Chinese woman was around coincidentally. They used her just because she still was in England and not because her special skills were needed.” He shrugged.

“So, what does he want to sell?” Greg asked.

“Masterson owns a lot of land and cattle. He has invented both special healthy food and special stables for his cattle. They give the best milk and especially the meat is perfect. He invented it first for cows and bulls and now pigs followed. The system made him extremely rich. China and Russia both offered a lot of money to share his secret.”

“He doesn't look like a farmer to me.” Greg murmured. He suddenly felt very exhausted.

“You need your rest, Greg. Go to bed and try to sleep. Sherlock and I will be close by. Do not open your door!” John seriously said.

“I won't. Thank you, John.” Greg yawned. John took Sherlock's hand and pulled him along.

“Come on, love. We need to go now.” Sherlock followed a few steps but then stopped.

“What? Why? Wait! I need my clothes.” He quickly picked them up. Then he looked at Greg.

“Don't worry, Lestrade. He will show up and he won't be mad at you.” Sherlock was serious. Both he and John finally left and Greg closed the door and locked it. He shed his clothes on the way into the bath and only managed to brush his teeth. He quickly used the loo and swayed into bed. He huddled into the blankets and moved on his side. He closed his eyes and fell asleep right away.

***

Sherlock and John both sat against the headrest of their bed. Sherlock stared at the wall until John took his hand.

“What is it?” He asked looking up at him.

“I am worried. We have made a stupid plan and Greg almost got hurt. It doesn't feel good. I am not used to stupid plans.” Only then he turned his eyes on John.

“Yes, we made a stupid plan. But no one could have known about the Chinese woman. Mycroft gave Greg a simple mission, absolutely without danger. Even he couldn't have known it turned out like this.” John said.

“He should have known about the Chinese woman. She is a dangerous spy and she was in England. Mycroft should have known about this.” Sherlock spoke faster than before and John pulled him down and over his lap.

“He will find out who overlooked her and fire him or her. He will ensure that something like that never happens again. He will appear inside Greg's room and see to his well-being. Hopefully he will be smart enough to admit his feelings.” Sherlock buried his face into the bedding and groaned loudly. John saw his ribs protrude and poked him.

“Tomorrow we will be having lunch in a pub on our way back to London. I want to see you eat something greasy.”

“I promise to do just that but only if you fuck me into the mattress right now.” Sherlock turned his head and looked up.

“That won't be a hardship.” John replied and kissed him.


	5. Solution

Mycroft had watched everything. His eyes almost popped out of their sockets when he saw the Chinese woman. The problem was he didn't see her leave. He didn't think it necessary to hack into the hotel's security system. He tried to call Gregory but the mobile was off. He tried to reach his brother but found he was out of town. Right then he was informed that his credentials had been used to check into the same hotel Gregory was staying at. He calmed down a bit because he knew Sherlock and John were looking after Gregory. But he called for his car anyway. Anthea was mysteriously absent. He sent the driver away and drove himself up to Bristol. He actually enjoyed the ride and reached Bristol in the morning. Lucky him, he never would get any tickets.  
He entered the hotel and since the staff had changed it never occurred to anyone that for the second time a certain Mycroft Holmes, member of MIX, asked for the master key-card. He thinly smiled and took it. He rode upstairs and at first stood in front of the suite and listened. There were no noises to be heard. He slid the card through the reader and quietly stepped inside. He carefully closed the door and leant against it. He closed his eyes and deeply inhaled. This place already, only after one day, smelled like Gregory. A dreamy smile was on his face when he dropped his briefcase on the sofa and shed his coat. He looked around for a bit and found the notes on the desk carefully sorted by Sherlock. Mycroft knew he had been looking at it and probably calmed down Gregory. He only could not find out why. Why was Sherlock up here? He sensed something weird but couldn't put his finger on it.

He approached the bedroom and his hand reached for the handle. Should he go in there or should he better wait for Gregory in the living room? He worried his lips but finally opened the door. His eyes fell on Gregory who was still fast asleep. The blanket only covered him up to his calves. And he slept naked. Mycroft swallowed and felt the heat on his skin. He licked his lips and crept closer. His eyes roamed over Gregory's naked body and came to rest on his morning wood. Well, he actually didn't call it that but anyway. He crept up to the bed until his knees touched the frame. He kept watching until a tanned hand snatched his wrist and pulled. His eyes widened and an undignified noise left his throat when he fell forward.

***

Greg woke because he sensed a presence in his suite. He was wide awake when he peered through his eyelashes while the door was quietly opened. A tall figure slowly approached his bed. Greg didn't make a move until he was close enough. Only then he jumped like an evil jack-in-the-box and snatched his wrist. He pulled strongly and the intruder stumbled over him and on the bed. Greg used the move and spun him around. He moved with it and finally sat on his back holding his wrists on his lower back. He wildly blinked himself awake.

“Don't do anything stupid!” He hissed angrily.

“Like what?” A familiar voice answered and Greg needed a few seconds to understand.

“Mycroft?” His voice somehow sounded a bit shrill and he quickly jumped off his body. A second later he realised he was stark naked and he reached for the sauna towel he had carelessly dropped after yesterday's shower. On the bed, Mycroft Holmes slowly turned around and sat. He looked a bit rumpled but not angry.

“Gregory. I probably should have knocked.” Greg swallowed and nodded.

“Yes, you should have. Are you hurt?” He asked but he shook his head.

“No, but I have to admit you surprised me. It seems I have been sitting behind a desk for too long.”

“Listen, we need to talk. But at first, I want to get dressed. Please don't go away.” Greg looked at him and then quickly disappeared into the bath.

“Why would I go away when I have just arrived?” Mycroft slowly got off the bed and adjusted his suit. He pulled a face when he wasn't able to straighten out all the lines. He sighed and decided to order breakfast.  
Gregory was still under the shower when the food arrived. It was neatly arranged in the living room and Mycroft gave a decent tip. He hoped this would be a good foundation for a serious talk.   
Finally, Gregory returned dressed into his private clothes and not yesterday's suit. Mycroft was a little bit disappointed. He would have to look at the CCTV recordings to enjoy the sight.  
Greg cleared his throat standing a bit awkwardly on the other side of the breakfast table.

“Listen, Mycroft, I have to apologise. This is all my fault and if you want the expenses back, I am sure I can find a way to...” He was interrupted.

“No, Gregory. I am sorry because I sent you here. I endangered your life. If something had happened to you...” He cast his eyes and stopped talking. He couldn't even look at him. But suddenly there was a hand reaching out for him. Gregory was very close.

“No, Mycroft. You couldn't have known. It has been my stupid idea to follow through with John's plan. It sounded easy but it turned out dangerous. You just reacted like predicted.” Greg smiled when Mycroft's head shot up. He looked shocked.

“I surely never did that!” He almost angrily exclaimed.

“Let's have breakfast. It looks too good to go to waste.” Greg loaded a plate and started to devour the scrambled eggs and croissants. Mycroft poured a coffee for himself. Greg just looked at him and Mycroft shrugged.

“I ordered this for you. I don't eat breakfast.” Greg grinned.

“Yes, it might slow you down.” Mycroft suppressed a nasty retort.

“It's simply something I never liked, that's all.” He said instead.

“Anyway, just let me explain.” Greg sounded serious and Mycroft tilted his head invitingly.

“I like you, a lot actually, and I think you do like me, as well. But you never approached. I was sort of fed up with the situation and tried to find a way to make you act. John came up with a plan to make you jealous. I asked Dimmock for help. Sherlock was delighted, by the way. After the night out with Dimmock, you appeared in my office and sent me here. I had a wonderful trip and I really enjoyed yesterday's dinner. I very much like the clothes you provided for me. I will give everything back but I need time to get the money. I probably need to talk to my bank.” He shrugged.

“I do like you, Gregory, a lot. But I never dared to approach. The situation was too alien to me. And I never really believed that someone like you could like me enough to want to be with me.” His voice was getting quieter by the word. And after he had finished, he put down the cup with coffee and turned away.  
Greg was speechless. He had seen how his cheeks had become red. Mycroft looked gorgeous.

“Mycroft, wait. I do want to be with you. If you could forget what I have done, we could just start again.” Greg said.

“Why would you even want to be with me?” He asked not looking at him. Greg moved after him and stood behind him. He was close to him, so very close.

“You are a very attractive man, Mycroft. You are in my mind since I have first seen you with your brother. I want you.” He told his back. Mycroft's head hung and he had closed his eyes. This was too good to be true. He slowly turned around again.

“I really would like to be with you. Why don't we finish this business with Masterson together?” Mycroft shyly suggested. A smile came upon Greg's face.

“Good idea. But how?” Greg asked.

“I will simply approach and tell him that we know. Then we will wait for his reaction and act accordingly.”

“But I will be close by.” Greg said and Mycroft nodded. Mycroft got his coat and briefcase and opened the door.

Sherlock and John fell into the room and on the carpet. It looked ridiculous. Sherlock quickly was back on his legs. John needed a moment longer and his face had a rosy shade. He didn't look at neither Greg or Mycroft.

“I believe everything is settled then? Perfect. John, let's go home now.” Sherlock cleared his throat.

“By the way, Anthea has already talked to Masterson. He has left fuming and nothing so far has been sold.” He added. In the meantime, John was standing by Sherlock's side and looked questioningly at Greg who just tilted his head smiling. John nodded and smiled. He took Sherlock's hand.

“Yes, let's go home. Good luck, Greg and Mycroft.” A very short interaction took place between Sherlock and his brother but a very small smile was on both their faces when Sherlock left with John.


End file.
